


Skipping Stones on Still Water

by 221A_brina



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Childhood Friends, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship, Gen, MFMM Year of Tropes, Reunions, S1E13 - King Memses' Curse, S3E6 - Death at the Grand, Soulmates, War Wounds/Injuries, Within and post episode events, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9232127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/pseuds/221A_brina
Summary: Of the myriad number of people you meet in your lifetime can one or more be your soulmate? How does synchronicity come in to play? The Universe has it's reasons for time - things that need to happen at the prescribed time - to come before or after as needed, to build upon - otherwise we may not be ready for the gifts that await.





	1. The First Ripple

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks again to my beta [leafingbookstea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leafingbookstea/pseuds/leafingbookstea).
> 
> I also want to dedicate this to QuietFemgineer. Her lovely comment that she reread this "a number of times when I needed to remind myself that events are connected and there is beauty in the world," means the world, and for the lovely gift she shared with me. (And many thanks to EC & NP.)

He stopped, taking his feet off the pedals, setting them on the ground on either side of his bicycle. He was breathless. His calf muscles ached from being pushed past their limits. The sun beat down on him, sweat trickled from his temples and along the groove between his shoulder blades. A lone drop snaked its way down his spine to add to the expanding wet circle on the back of his smalls creating an uncomfortably warm patch of moisture against his skin. He was invigorated. 

Since purchasing his push bike with the money from the sale of his coin collection _(Thanks Uncle Ted!)_ he had been exploring his surroundings in North Richmond. His bike gave him an unrestricted freedom that he'd heretofore never experienced. It was exhilarating! He'd explored the banks of the Yarra River south by way of Barkley Gardens, the Royal Botanic Gardens _(a new favorite)_ to the south west, Burnley Park to the south east, and Fitzroy to the north west. Recently his wanderings had led him to investigate the Carlton Gardens across from the Royal Exhibition Building. Lately his interests had been leaning towards botany and bicycling. Every day he cycled, his lungs and legs strengthened. If he disciplined himself to dedicated training, maybe someday he could compete in the ultimate cycling challenge – the Tour de France. 

Today's exploration had him heading up Nicholson Street towards the eastern bend in the Yarra in Abbotsford. His intended goal – the Darling Gardens in Clifton Hall. He turned left onto Gipps Street heading into the 'wilds' of Collingwood. Somewhere between Nicholson and Wellington, he stopped for a breather, which was where he was now; standing and surveying the road ahead. He took out his handkerchief and swiped his sweating forehead and tucked it back into his pocket. He shrugged off his small rucksack from his shoulders and brought it around to set it on his handlebars. He dug in and pulled out his water bottle and took a long draught of the once cold water. He stilled for a moment, enjoying the slight breeze that helped him cool down a bit. 

Reinvigorated, he carefully tucked the bottle next to the lunch bag his mother had packed for him _(Ham, cheese and mustard pickle! My favorite! Thanks Mum!)_ and settled his pack between his shoulders. 

He secured one foot on the pedal, intending to continue onto Darling Gardens, but something caused him to stop and pause. Despite the heat, he shuddered and felt goose flesh erupt along his arms. He shook it off and started back along the street. As he approached Rupert Street, he felt a strong pull toward the right, and followed it. One of his most recent pieces of sage advice his father had passed along to him was, "Trust your gut, son and it won't steer you wrong." His mother had chimed in that while some scoffed at it, "women's intuition" was the self same thing. Somehow society didn't feel it was proper for a woman to have a 'gut' that spoke to her. 

_Well..._ he thought, _let's see where this takes me, eh?_

He passed houses and alleys full of washing lines, storage boxes and rubbish bins. A short distance down the way, he chanced upon two young girls near his age under a washing line strewn with clothing drying in the hot Melbourne sun. They were seated in a bathtub; the older girl holding a broom handle with a white shirt tied to it, a sail fluttering in the breeze. The younger girl clasped a ragged slat of wood in her hands, drawing it back and forth - paddling through the imaginary water outside their makeshift ship. 

They were a picture of opposites united only by their pale complexions. The older girl had dark hair with blunt cut fringe just touching her brows and framing her face, giving off the impression she was peeking under a curtain of slightly frayed fine silk threads. 

The younger girl had dishwater blonde hair escaping from once neat and orderly plaits tied with long loopy bows of azure velvet ribbons. 

He had been observing them unnoticed for a short time, watching them playing on the high seas. He smiled. It was always nice to discover others who shared your interests. He was lost in thought when the younger girl turned to face the other, and she startled, noticing him watching them. 

"A-ha!" She exclaimed, causing him to jump in surprise. She brandished the wood slat like a sword and aimed it towards him. 

His hands shot up in front of his chest and blurted, "I surrender! I surrender!" A chuckle escaped his lips as they curled up into a crooked smile. 

As the older girl turned to face him, his heart raced and calmed in an instant. A feeling as if he had been holding his breath for some unknown reason, then suddenly been permitted to breathe again slid into the back of his mind. Simultaneously, he felt a jolt and a momentary return of the goose flesh. This time it traveled up his arms, across his shoulders, down his back and into his legs, dissipating into the dirt. 

Her deep blue green eyes widened then narrowed and locked with his as he noticed she momentarily shuddered, which she tried to shrug off with feigned nonchalance. "Hallo," she said. 

"Hello," he returned. "That your pirate ship?" He asked, his head inclining towards the bathtub they were stepping out of. 

"Yeah," replied the blonde. "How'd you know? Lucky guess?" 

"Nah," he returned. "With a sail like that, it could only be a pirate ship." He was pleased with his observational skills. 

"Guess so, eh?" Responded the dark haired one. "So..." She began, "what brings you into our waters?" 

"Your waters, huh?" He chuckled, humor lighting a spark in his eyes. "I was just biking about. Exploring." 

Her eyes explored him from stem to stern. _He's kinda cute... for a boy,_ she thought. 

The blonde girl had sidled up to the older girl as they were talking. She pushed her thumb into her chest. "I'm Jane." 

The other girl cleared her throat. Jane frowned, gave her a sideways glance and continued. "I'm the pirate Mary Read, and this here's Anne Bonny," she finished, pointing to the other girl. She leaned in towards him, putting her hand up to her mouth. In a conspiratorial aside, she whispered, "she's really my sister." In a louder tone, she asked, "What's your name?" 

He smiled. "I'm Johnny. Nice to meet you," he answered, finally disembarking from his bike. He leaned it against the corrugated metal wall behind the bathtub. 

'Anne' looked him over again, a devilish gleam in her eyes. His heart began to race again. 

"That's perfect!" She exclaimed. "Your name is John. We've needed one so our Pirate Sloop 'Revenge' can steal the 'William.'" She started motioning him towards their ship. 

He shrugged off his rucksack and hung it on his handlebars then turned back to 'Anne.' She tucked her arm through his and led him to the 'Revenge.' Looking up into his deep blue eyes, she added, "You can be my partner, John Rackham. Better known as "Calico Jack." She smiled, feeling awfully pleased with herself. 

"Sure. Aww-right," he agreed. _This oughta be fun,_ he mused. 

They boarded and took over the 'William,' then captured and plundered many other ships along the way. They had a number of grand adventures by the time the sun's rays drew long shadows onto the landscape. In a lull in the action, Johnny's stomach rumbled loudly. 

"Arrr, would that be enemy canon fire, Cap'n?" Joked Jane. 

Johnny flushed, then laughed and said, "No, sir! Methinks it be time to visit the galley. I'll be checkin' on Cook's stores." He ambled over to his bicycle and rummaged through his rucksack pulling out his bag lunch and water bottle. "I've got enough for all of us, if you want some," he offered. 

The girls exchanged furtive looks, followed by a look of unbelieving hope. "You sure?" Jane asked timidly. 

"Ya, no worries," Johnny remarked, thinking nothing of it. "Me mum always packs a lot. She knows how hungry I can get." His stomach chimed in for emphasis. By the time he had returned to their enclave with the bounty, 'Anne' had upended the metal wash basin to serve as a table for the piratical trio. 

After setting down the water bottle, Johnny carefully pulled out each item from the brown bag. The contents: ham, cheese and mustard pickle sandwiches (2), apples (2), carrots (3), biscuits (3), and a handful of macadamia nuts wrapped in an old handkerchief. He spread the feast on top of the bag on their makeshift table, and as he did, he saw a deep longing and hunger in their eyes, making him realize his companions were, most likely, not as fortunate as he. It was then he decided to downplay his hunger _(stomach growling willing),_ in order to give the lion's share to the girls. He took a third of one of the sandwiches and a few nuts, and passed the sandwich remainders toward them. He noticed that 'Anne' immediately reached for the smaller sandwich and pushed the whole sandwich into her sister's hands. Jane looked as if she would protest, but was silenced with a pointed but stern glare from her sister which brooked no argument. 

Johnny had a feeling that this was a regular exchange between the girls. An admiration for 'Anne' settled in his chest. 

"Mum always makes my favorite sandwich for me when I go on my biking jaunts. Says it's her 'insurance policy.'" He paused mid munch and chuckled at the family joke. 

" 'surance policy?" Jane queried, her mouth full of sandwich, a baffled look on her face. 

"Means his mum knows his belly'll always bring him home. Ain't that right, Cap'n Jack?" 'Anne's' eyebrows waggled knowingly. Her understanding evident in her soul deep eyes. 

"S'ppose so, eh?" Johnny said thoughtfully as he reached for a biscuit. His thoughts of home made him realize just how much time had passed in the company of these "Pirate Girls of Collingwood" as he now began to think of them. _Yes, THE Pirate Girls of Collingwood. As if there could be any others._

"Speaking of home, I need to get back, or my mum will tan my hide," he said scrambling to gather his things. "If I'm not home by dark, she worries. Thanks for lettin' me play pirate with you. It's been brilliant. Maybe we can do this again? Next weekend maybe?" He looked hopefully at his newfound friends. 

"Oh yes!" Exclaimed Jane, excitement bubbling in her eyes. 

'Anne' wrapped up the remaining food – apples, carrots and nuts (there was not a biscuit to be found) back in the brown bag and offered it back to Johnny. "Here. Don't forget your lunch." 

"You keep it, Cap'n Bonny. Mum might get suspicious if I come back with half my lunch. Wouldn't want to unduly worry her." He winked at her as he headed towards his bike. 

The girls exchanged a subdued look of glee between them as 'Anne' passed the bag to her sister to hold onto. 

" 'sides..." Johnny continued, not witnessing their exchange, "I have a feeling that she'll have dinner on the table by the time I get back. If I don't get grounded for being late." He rolled his eyes and smirked. "I'm sure I can squeak in and make wash up in time. I'm pretty speedy when needs be." 

"It was nice having you be my partner in pirating, Jack," 'Anne' said shrugging one shoulder. 

"Me, too," he agreed, giving her a lopsided smile. 

"Me, three," added Jane, not wanting to be left out. "We hardly ever get to have a 'Calico Jack'." Her delight showed in her face as she shifted from one foot to the other. 

"Well..." Johnny started as he climbed on his push bike, "I'd better get going if I don't want a tanned hide by tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Jane and... I don't even know your real name, 'Anne'…" the realization suddenly dawning on him. 

"It's..." Jane's revelation was cut short by an elbow jab to her side from her sister. 

"Consider it a source of mystery. A girl can't tell all her secrets at once," the enigmatic 'Anne' said with a cheeky grin on her smiling face. A smile that lit up her entire being. "Nice to meet you too, Jack." 

"It's Johnny," he replied abruptly, then grimaced sheepishly, not intending to hurt her feelings. 

"I know," 'Anne' volleyed back, unfazed and grinning even more, "but I like Jack better. You look more like a Jack. And besides... what's better'n bein' a Pirate Cap'n, Jack, eh?" A look of unbridled mischief flitted across her eyes and engulfed her smile as he began to pedal away. 

He waved to them as he headed down the street to find his way home. He was glad he'd listened to his 'gut' today. He was looking forward to coming back and playing pirate with the girls. 

There was something about 'Anne' that intrigued him, that drew him to her, a familiarity about her. Something... he couldn't put his finger on. As if he was completely unaware, that up until this day in his life, he'd either been holding his breath or couldn't fully breathe. And now... now, suddenly, he could finally draw a deep, cleansing breath. He drew in another full, lung expanding breath through his nose and slowly let it out through pursed lips. A calm washed over him as a thought softly settled in his mind and wound its way into his heart. _Ahh... THERE you are._

He redoubled his pedaling, anxious to get home to share news of his new adventure with his family. From Collingwood back through to the ( ~~un~~ )charted wilds of North Richmond. 

____________________________

Epilogue: 

In the following weeks and months, he searched for the girls to no avail. The Pirate Girls of Collingwood who ruled the waves. He asked around, but heard only snippets of rumors or conjecture. Some said Jane had disappeared or been kidnapped, others said the family left the country leaving no forwarding address, yet another theory suggested that the father had been thrown in gaol and the mother left with the girls. He never did find them. 

Eventually his sadness regarding their disappearance lessened and became a faint memory of his childhood. A puzzle left unfinished. Occasionally, during times of great stress, Johnny Robinson noticed he couldn't fully catch his breath.


	2. The Second Ripple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is hell. Sometimes there's a bright light in the darkness - one from the past that helps light the way to your future.

Sounds of the battlefield loomed large. It wasn't background noise as such, but rather a loud fog of interference that swallowed and engulfed everything in its path, its wake, its perimeter. A cacophony that dulled everything in its purview. 

The landscape was tinted and tainted by its own uniquely drab palette of dried mud, blood and soiled uniforms. On the rare instance a color broke through the dim haze, it was more often than not the bright red of blood - of life ebbing away one rapid heartbeat at a time; the white of a smock, apron or cap of a doctor, nurse or ambulance worker. On the rarest of occasions, if one was extremely lucky, it was the green of a patch of grass, some foliage or a flower that had somehow escaped the ravages of its surroundings, making it all the more precious for its rarity. That somehow, in the midst of all the turmoil, a glimmer of hope and life could be found. 

His body was awash with pain, radiating out from dual epicenters. The first, on his forehead, up towards his hairline; the second somewhere mid-chest. Blood was flowing down his face in rivulets. Drying blood matted his left eyebrow and clouded his vision. Every heartbeat a thunderous tattoo in his head, threatening to explode his skull. 

The other pain emanated from his chest, blossoming and spreading at every attempt he made to draw air (fetid though it was) into his lungs. His body screamed as his voice lacked the power to; his only sounds rasping, ragged breaths and unintelligible moans that drifted from his blood-caked and swollen lips as he lay in the stretcher awaiting his turn in triage. 

He brought the back of his sleeve up to swipe away the blood staining his vision, only to have a small pale hand divert his and gently pull it away from the offending wound. 

"No, no, no..." She said quickly. "Let's not get that any more dirty, shall we? I wouldn't want you to scratch your eye." Her gentle touch reached through his raging pain; a lifeline to grasp amidst all the chaos and confusion. 

"You're..." he struggled to form the words. "You're an Aussie?" A modicum of relief at hearing a familiar accent took the barbed edge off his continuing pain. 

"Righto. Melbourne. Collingwood, in fact," she said as she took a wet cloth to wipe the blood from his head in order to assess the damage on his forehead. 

"Collingwood?" he rasped, "What're the odds?" His breath hitched as he continued. "I'm from Richmond. Fancy going halfway 'round the world to meet a neighbor, eh?" 

Her hands flitted over his head wound with practiced efficiency, cleaning and bandaging the wound in no time. 

"Fancy that," she replied, keeping his focus on her. "Your head wound was quite the bleeder, but lucky for you, it was only superficial." She deftly wrapped gauze around his head securing the larger gauze square on his forehead. 

"What's your name, digger?" she inquired, trying to keep him centered and focused on her face as her eyes and hands continued their exploration of his wounds. 

"J-John," his voice stuttered, his lungs protesting. "John, but my mates all call me 'Robbo.'" His struggling for breath evident with every spoken word. 

"'Robbo' from Richmond, is it? Nice to meet you, neighbor. I'm - " Her next word was cut off by an explosion (close by, from the sound of it) that shook the ambulance and caused her to splay her body over his to act as cover. When she pulled away, her cheek bore an imprint of the blood from his chest wound. 

"Sounds like the Krauts are in a right foul mood today." She tried for a bit of levity, and was pleased to see the corner of his mouth quiver in an attempt to rise. 

"Let's see what's going on under here." She unbuttoned his uniform one layer at a time and peeled the blood soaked layers away from his skin, careful not to pull at the wounds. She found a cluster of blood blossoms toward the base of his sternum. She reached over and grabbed the cloth from the basin, squeezed out the excess water, carefully dabbed and wiped the crusted blood away, revealing the extent of his injuries. 

"How's your breathing, Robbo? Can you take a deep breath for me?" she asked in an attempt to ascertain the damage. Her hand resting on his chest feeling each inhale and exhale. 

He tried to bring a large gulp of air in, but hitched mid-breath and he coughed, grimacing at the pain of the effort. "S-sorry... I – I can't seem to get a g-good breath. Hurts more wh-when I breathe in." His sad and pained eyes speaking his apology. 

"No worries, dear. Just try to relax." She added as she continued her ministrations. "You've got a few pieces of shrapnel lodged at the base of your sternum, and from what I'm seeing and feeling, your lungs are only bruised and not punctured." Something about his shrapnel injury seemed odd to her, so she paged through the layers of his uniform and found what she didn't realize she'd been looking for. His first aid kit tin. Regulation had it carried in the lower left pouch at the hip in the pouches on the belting packs. "So tell me, Robbo, what made you decide to carry your first aid tin in your front pack pockets and not at your hip?" Her inquiring eyes locked with his. 

Between ragged sips of air, he managed to eke out, "Dunno..." His eyes rolled trying to focus on the face before him; pale porcelain skin framed by a white veil and raven fringe, soulful blue eyes boring into his. A jolt of gooseflesh ran up his arms and made the circuit through his body tingling all the way down to the soles of his feet. "Ne-never seemed to s-sit well there. Fe-felt... out of p-place. Gut feeling, I guess," he offered. 

"Well, Robbo, good thing you trusted your gut, otherwise you might not be here." 

"M-my dad always told me to trust-t my gut and it would never steer me wrong," he volunteered. 

"Well... you're a very lucky man. Your tin took the brunt of the shrapnel and disbursed the rest. That's why your lungs are having trouble expanding. They got a fair beating from the impact." Her hands and eyes continued their work of searching and ministering. 

Another loud explosion rocked the truck, and her automatic response once again took over as she covered his body with hers, protecting her wounded charge. As the sound dissipated, she pulled back to sit aright, but the fob watch on her apron caught on his pack straps. Robbo gasped from the abrupt jerking movement. 

"Ooh... I'm terribly sorry. Damn watch!" she whispered through pursed lips, her face at his jawline, just shy of his lips. Her small fingers worked furiously to extricate the watch from the entanglement. The only solution, to unpin it from her apron. She pulled away leaving it laying insinuated amid the straps, buckles and buttons of his uniform. 

Once free, she cupped her hand around his jawline and examined his neck and lips. More blood, both caked and flowing, escaped from each area. Reaching again for the wet cloth, she started to clean both, only to be interrupted by fellow ambulance corps member. He leaned in the open side wall of the ambulance and fairly shouted over the din barely being heard. "… would you be a love and grab me a couple of bandage rolls, some sutures and a pan?" 

"Sure thing," she replied, and leaned over to the storage side of the truck in order to procure the requested supplies. 

"Here ya go, Dev. Iz'at enough?" she asked, handing them over. 

He nodded his acknowledgement and lifted the pan as if in a toast. "Thanks, angel." 

She returned his nod and watched him disappear into the hazy darkness. She then set her attention back on her patient, who she now observed, was holding her fob watch in his hands, turning it over, this way and that. His long fingers traced the word "Angel" on the bar of the fob watch. 

"Angel?" he whispered. "Is that your-r name?" His eyes once again locked onto the sweet face before him. If that wasn't her name, she surely must be one. One so delicate with a light about her, despite being surrounded by all this death and dying. A light that cut through this overpowering darkness. A darkness that was threatening to pull him down. 

Moments later he lost his battle with consciousness. She tried to nudge him awake to no avail. 

She ascertained the last of his wounds. A piece of debris was lodged in his neck just under the right side of his jawline. She debrided the wound then treated and bandaged it, then moved on to the horizontal cut on the right bow of his upper lip. Both injuries were superficial but might leave slight scars. Nothing that would unduly mar or detract from the countenance of this ruggedly handsome soldier. 

She'd encountered many a pretty boy, handsome lad and dashing figure in her time during the war. There was something about this digger... something that made an impression on her, something... A sudden rush of gooseflesh came and went. She shook it off, cleared her head and returned to the final assessment of the man lying before her. 

Like clockwork, or simply a preternaturally ingrained sense of knowing, Devin reappeared at the open side of the ambulance. 

"Ah, Dev... my knight in shining armor. Always knowing when a lady is in need of your big strong arms." She smiled at her colleague. "Can you help me get Robbo here to surgery? I'm pretty certain he's only got a bruised lung, but I don't want to chance that it's a puncture. And he's got some shrapnel lodged in his sternum." Her hands were busy readying the patient for transport. 

"Robbo, eh? On a first name basis now, are we?" Dev asked with a glimmer in his eyes, chiding her. 

"Yes, well..." she countered without missing a beat, "it seems this digger here and I are compatriots. Neighbors, in fact." She smiled. "He's from a neighborhood not far from where I grew up." 

Devin motioned to another man at his side as they jockeyed into position to extract the injured soldier from the ambulance. 

"What're the odds o' that all the way out here, angel?" 

At the last word and jarring motion of the stretcher, Robbo blinked his eyes open, consciousness returning in ripples, not unlike a stone skipping across a placid pond. "Unh... angel..." his voice still harsh from the strain on his lungs. He proffered the timepiece to her in his outstretched hand. She cupped his large palm in her two small hands and wrapped her fingers around his and patted. 

"Hold onto that for me, will you?" she countered. "Put it in that lucky tin of yours, and that angel will watch over you. I'll come and see you after you're out of surgery and you can return it then, promise?" Her eyes lingered on his face noticing precisely when it changed from hopelessness to a burgeoning glimmer of hope. 

He nodded his acquiescence, his fingers fumbling to obey her request. 

As the men pulled him out of the ambulance to shuttle him into surgery, she put her hand on the stretcher and grasped for Robbo's hand. "I'll come find you later in recovery all right? You hang on. Maybe we can figure out a plan to meet for drinks back home after all this mess is over, eh?" She suggested, throwing out a promise of hope to raise his spirits. 

He squeezed her hand and said, "It's a date." A lopsided grin broke out on his face causing her to suddenly inhale and her heart to flutter and skip. A familiar wash of feeling flooded her body and drained away as she watched him being carried off to surgery. 

More gunfire and explosions interrupted her momentary woolgathering as she hurried back into the ambulance to prepare it for the next patient needing her care. 

____________________ 

 

Epilogue: 

 

She never made it back to recovery that night. The shelling had increased and her skills were in high demand elsewhere near the battlefield. It wasn't until a week later that she realized that her fob watch was no longer pinned to her apron. It was a gift from some of the men in her unit. They called her their angel. She was a glimpse of light in this dark time, and she seemed to bring calm and hope in her wake wherever she worked. They had the bar part of the pin engraved in a beautifully flowing script with the single word "Angel." Engraved on the back of the casing was a halo atop a stylized letter in between a pair of wings. 

She smiled remembering her interaction with... what was his name? Oh, yes. Robbo. His face slipping from her memory. After a while, the myriad of faces of the injured soldiers blended together. Ironically, the only memories that were more clear were the patterns of the injuries they bore. 

As 'Angel' prepped her work area for the soldier on the stretcher before her, she closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer as if to imbue her watch with powers of protection. _Please be his angel. Watch over him and get him home safe._

 

_________________ 

 

Robbo recovered and returned to the fighting. His angel's watch tucked securely in his first aid tin nestled next to his heart. He often wondered what happened to his 'Angel' - why she never came back to see him in recovery so he could return her watch. He chalked it up to the ravages of war, the constant rush and demand of emergency personnel. 

He sat staring blankly through the train's window, the rapidly retreating scenery not even registering. Unconsciously he scratched at the healing scar cluster at the base of his sternum. 

The war had ended two months ago, and the troops were gradually being shipped home. He had wanted to explore the legendary wonders of Paris, but found that after a week of investigating the museums and galleries the desire to stay felt like ashes in his mouth. All he wanted to do now was go home and put his nightmares of death and the dying behind him. Perhaps bury himself in his marriage, or his work on the police force, providing he still had a job to return to. 

As the train screeched to a halt, he brought the watch, which sat in his cupped palm, up to his mouth and kissed it before returning it to its home in his first aid tin; his actions mechanical, well practiced, rote. Once it was settled back in his pocket, he grabbed his gear and exited the train onto the platform, one ex-soldier in a sea of ex-soldiers. 

He absent-mindedly rubbed his sternum again, bringing back to mind that day on the battlefield. Though he may not recall the specific details of her face, John 'Robbo' Robinson would never forget her kindness and care in his hour of need. She had truly been his Guardian Angel.


	3. The First Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes on the worst day of your life, the Universe sends you joy to temper the sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place towards the end of "King Memses' Curse" (S1E13) - starting with and continuing from the scene in the copse of trees by the water's edge where Murdoch Foyle buried Jane Fisher.

The events of the past five days had unfolded at a break neck speed. It all started with the plans and implementation of a happy event which devolved into circumstances most harrowing and grisly, and ending with a bittersweet resolution.

Murdoch Foyle had escaped from prison and put into play complex plans and machinations that had been brewing and stewing inside him for the better part of a decade. He had taunted and terrorized his last goddess into finally sacrificing herself to his cause. Her punishment for all those many years ago. Punishment for foiling _(oh, the irony of it)_ his agenda and the delay of his rightful ascendance.

But it was not to be. He hadn't counted on the drive and dogged determination of one Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, or the pugnacious perseverance of the matured Miss Fisher.

Miss Fisher had eventually inveigled the information of her sister's final whereabouts from the odious man who had kidnapped her sister all those years ago. Which brought them to where they were at the present moment. It was a scene of placid and contemplative beauty that hid beneath it a tale of loss and madness and death. A tale unbeknownst to all but the chosen initiates.

The weeping willow swayed in the soft breeze; the water gently burbled and flowed over rocks and stones. The serene view was marred only by the quiet digging at the unmarked gravesite. The mood was somber in the dappled sunlight as they stood watching the man shovel and carefully brush away the dirt that surrounded and enveloped the all too small bones of a sister whose light was far too short for this world. A light extinguished well before it even had a chance to truly shine.

Bathed in sunbeams, Dottie Williams stood, staring down into the grave, white gloved hands tightly clasped. Her eyes only breaking away to glance towards her employer as the small white skull was exposed.

Constable Hugh Collins stood in shadowed sun at her side, brow creased, hat perched on the rocky outcropping behind him in deference. His face was awash with anger, disbelief, and sadness, each emotion battling for control. His eyes rose to meet the gravedigger's, as the man righted himself.

Jack looked on, one hand characteristically grasping his fedora, the other – knuckles curved and resting on the hat band; his face austere and impassive. The gravedigger wordlessly looked at him for direction, at which Jack raised an open palm in his direction.

The gravedigger extricated himself from the pit, taking the shovel with him to stand at the trunk of the neighboring tree.

All the while, Phryne Fisher had been staring, eyes fixed on the center of the well in the dirt. Hands dangled limply in front of her body, connected only by the thin line of azure velvet ribbon that tied her to her past. A line that now connected to her present. A line that diverged away from her future.

She brushed her tongue to her lips in an attempt to tamp down a rising sob. Her only feeling a hollow numbness. An ache throbbed in her cheekbones as she tried to stave off the impending flood of tears. Her breath circling the ash in her lungs; her heart a grievously bereft husk.

Phryne took a stuttering breath when she felt the Inspector's gentle touch on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered as she braced herself to step forward. His hand trailed down her back as she moved closer.

As she passed the young constable on her right, he reached up a hand to hold fast to his sweetheart's; her delicately gloved hand lovingly enveloped in his.

Speckled sunlight brushed its warmth over Phryne as she approached the hole in the earth where her long lost sister lay. She ascended the incline at grave's edge and reached up a trembling hand to remove her wide-brimmed black straw hat, clutching it tightly to the ribbon.

She knelt at the edge and peered down. For the briefest of moments she glimpsed the remains of her sister. Remnants of a life lost; a life unlived, a life unrealized.

That vision was swiftly replaced with precious memories of their shared childhood. Remembrances of happier days despite their impoverished upbringing. Days spent wandering, exploring, adventuring. Of sneaking off to the circus arm in arm, hand in hand. Of skipping rope in tandem in a back alley. Of hand clapping games. Of hugging each other and gripping so tight, then twirling and spinning until they were dizzy and fell tumbling into the grass, giggling and laughing all the while with nary a care in the world.

Janey. Her precious little golden locked sister. Amidst the poverty of their childhood, Janey was her beacon, her shining light. The light to her dark, the yang to her yin. The Mary Read to her Anne Bonny. Her pirate partner.

Phryne's mind wandered back to one of her happiest and dearest memories of their pirate adventuring days. The breeze billowing their sails, Janey rowing, when an unfamiliar pirate came across their bow. A potential enemy combatant had become a grand new friend and most excellent Pirate Captain. One who showed them both an uncommon kindness. Phryne had so looked forward to seeing him again, to playing pirate and sailing the seas.

He hadn't condescended to or ignored Janey as most boys his age would have, but had treated her as an equal, and Janey (and Phryne) had adored him all the more for it.

Janey had also been over the moon about the macadamia nuts he had shared with them. She'd squirreled most of them away, sparingly doling them out, treats to be savored over the following week. The last of which were hastily consumed when they were uprooted once again. Due, no doubt, to some failed flim-flam or scam of her father's.

The momentary burst of anger jolted Phryne from her reverie. Reality flooded back in a rush as she sat on the edge, legs dangling into the opening below. Each new wave of emotion beating her, enveloping her, drowning her until she could bear it no longer. A silent steady stream of tears rushed down her cheeks splashing on the bones below. As her grief and despair threatened to crash on her onto the rocks of desolation, racking sobs began to bubble up to the surface. Suddenly adrift, she instinctively reached out her hand for a lifeline. As ever, he was there, unquestioningly holding fast, tethering her to him; keeping her from being swept out to sea to drift alone on an ocean of sorrow, guiding her into safer waters and towards the land of the living.

Her choking sobs wracked her already weakened body draining what little life she had left. As she attempted to stand, her legs began to give out, and Jack reached down to bolster her up, letting her hold onto him for support. His eyes darted to Dot's then to Miss Fisher's hat and Janey's ribbon lying on the dirt mound, then back to Dot's, wordlessly conveying a request. He gathered Phryne in his arms and lead her to his motorcar. Dot scurried to comply, gathering her mentor's belongings and followed them to the Inspector's vehicle.

Dottie slid the items on the seat as Jack settled Phryne into the front of the car. Raven hair, glistening in the errant sunlight, hung down and masked a pale tear streaked face that hung low, chin resting on her chest.

Jack crouched in front of her and reached his deft hand under her chin to gently raise it, bringing her unfocused gaze up to meet his. His thumb traced the round of her chin, skirting the edge of her bottom lip, rubbing it from side to side.

"Phryne," his voice was soft and deep, barely over a low rumbling whisper. He continued to stroke her chin and lip calling her name, slowly bringing her back to the here and now. One thumb tenderly brushed across the slowing track of tears coursing down her cheeks.

Phryne's eyes gradually regained their focus, Jack's face filling her view. Her Jack. Her triple pillar. Her rock. Her partner.

"Jack?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes finally registering his presence.

"I'm here, Phryne. I'm right here." He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. "Phryne... I need to attend to something for just a moment." He dropped his hands down to hers, which were setting atop her lap and grasped them into his. "Will you be alright for just a minute? I promise I'll be right back to take you home, alright?" He looked deeply into her eyes and found her there, deep under the layers of grief and sadness.

She nodded slowly, numbly and looked down to her lap, just then realizing the warmth in her hands was radiating from his. His large hands gentled; his thumbs tracing soft circles on the back of her hands. When he released his grip, her hands dropped back into her lap and she absent-mindedly began to fidget, fingers flailing for something to do.

His keen eye observed the nervous flurry of activity, registering her unrest. He straightened enough to press towards her and lean over her seated form. Jack reached across the seat and plucked the ribbon from its resting place on her hat and placed it in her hands, causing them to still. Her breathing steadied and her fingers began to rhythmically stroke the velvet. As his body slid back out of the vehicle, he brushed a whisper soft kiss along her cheek.

Something in the back of her conscious brain registered the feeling and the hard line of her lips softened into the beginnings of a smile.

"I'll be back in a moment. I promise. Alright?" He asked hopefully.

She silently nodded her assent, her eyes tracking his as he stood to leave.

Reassured that he could leave her momentarily, he shut the car door and hurried back to the gravesite where the disinterment continued.

"Collins?" he called to his constable.

"Sir?" came the instant reply.

"If you would continue to oversee the rest of this – making sure Jane Fisher's remains are securely transported to the Coroner's Office, I'll make sure the requisite paperwork is expedited." The inspector's hands swiped back the edges of his overcoat to slide into his trouser pockets. He leaned on the trunk of the willow tree and continued.

"This family has waited far too long to get closure and properly lay her to rest." He paused and rubbed his hand across his lips and cupped his chin. "I'll contact Mrs. Stanley to enquire about any family funeral arrangements for interment.

The detective turned to Dottie who was still standing next to her beau. "Miss Williams," he started, "I'm taking Miss Fisher home and was wondering if you would need a lift as well?"

"Thank you kindly, Inspector," Dottie began as she looked up into his concerned face. She looped her arm through Hugh's, his ears pinking, cheeks flushing. "But," she continued, "I think I'll stay with Hugh and make sure everything gets cared for properly,"

"Dot... Dottie... no..." Hugh stuttered, interrupting. "You don't need to... we can..." His earnestness warring with compassion.

"No Hugh," she said firmly and deliberately. "I'd never forgive myself if I didn’t." Dot drew in a wavering breath, steeled herself and continued. "I have to. I need to. For Miss Phryne." Lips pursed, she nodded decisively to both men, indicating the topic was closed.

The inspector acquiesced, nodding. He rolled away from the tree, perching his hand on his hip. "I'll..." He reached up and readjusted his fedora. "In light of events of the last several days, I think I'll stay with Miss Fisher until you return, if that's alright."

"Thank you, again, Inspector. I think that's a good idea." Dot fidgeted with her purse. "I... I know Miss Fisher would appreciate that, though she might not be of a mind to realize that right now. Thank you." She reached again for the reassurance of Hugh's hand.

Jack inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You'll make sure she gets home safely then?" he queried his constable.

"Yes sir. Of course, sir," came Hugh's sincere reply. He reached over his free hand to cover Dot's hand in his and pat it reassuringly.

"If you need me for anything further, you can reach me at Miss Fisher's residence." He nodded to them both as he turned to go.

"You'll..." Dot's voice was hesitant, shaking. "Take care of my Miss, will you, Inspector?" Her eyes, sad and hopeful, implored him.

"I will, Miss Williams," he paused and drew in a breath. "That I will. You have my word." He left the rest of the operation in the capable hands of his constable and Miss Fisher's companion.

Jack increased his pace, wanting to get back to Phryne posthaste. Although it had only been a few minutes, he was reluctant to leave her alone for any length of time, knowing full well what the flood of emotions could do at a time such as this.

When he returned, he could see that she had been crying again as evidenced by the black streaks running down her cheeks. In one hand she held a balled up handkerchief, in the other, Janey's hair ribbon, her thumb unconsciously worrying down the soft nap of the velvet.

Her head lifted up at the sound of the car door shutting and the slight jostling of the detective's weight in the driver's seat. "Take me home, Jack," her voice a raw whisper. "Take me home please?" Her brows wrinkled her plea.

He responded with a nod and started the car. The drive to Wardlow was silent save for the constant drone of the engine. As he drove, Phryne kept edging incrementally towards him on the seat until her head rested on his shoulder, her hand resting on the crook of his arm. When she tried to get in even closer and huddle to his side, Jack raised his arm so she could tuck under it; her head resting on his chest.

Dear Phryne. What horrors she had weathered in her young life with the disappearance of her sister. Carrying the unrelenting and self-imposed blame on her shoulders like a heavy yoke weighing down a beast of burden. How she had survived THAT, let alone the ravages of war, and an emotionally and physically abusive relationship yet still manage to emerge as she did – a loving, caring, champion of the underdog, he'd never know. He'd just have to chalk it up to the never ending mystery that was The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.

By the time they had arrived at her home, she was fast asleep. Slumber claiming her body. He looked down at her sleeping form curled up against him and smiled a sad smile. Would that he could spare her this pain. _But no..._ he corrected himself. _No... it was better to live with the pain of knowing than the empty hollowness of eternally wondering. Wondering and imagining any variety of horrors and scenarios, each one worse than the one before. With knowing came closure, and with closure came... the eventual ability to move forward into the future._

He carefully extricated himself from her hold and eased her to the edge of the seat. Exhaustion had set in; his movements did nothing to disturb her sleep. He wedged himself down to slide her out of the seat and carry her to the door, her hand still tightly clasped around the precious length of ribbon and a balled up handkerchief.

Seconds after, Jack began to ponder how in the world he would be able to knock on the door, let alone gain entrance to her house, the door swung wide revealing the ever present Mr. Butler.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler," Jack said exhaling, relief flooding his face. "I didn't want to wake her."

"Of course, Inspector." Overwhelming concern radiated from the butler's face.

"Shall I take her to her room?" Jack whispered.

"I think that would be best, don’t you think, sir?" he asked as he quietly closed the front door.

Jack nodded and moved towards the stairs. As he began to ascend, Mr. Butler walked to the bottom of the steps, and in a stage whisper volunteered, "Do let me know if I can be of assistance."

"Of course," was the inspector's response as he cleared the top of the stairs. "I'll just make sure she's tucked in. Once Miss Williams returns, I'll be on my way," he said as he hovered in the upper hallway.

"Very good, sir," came the butler's reply. He then disappeared into the kitchen to make a pot of tea for his Mistress and the Inspector.

Jack gently lowered Phryne to the bed, resting her against the pile of pillows and carefully slid his hands out from under her body. He tried not to dwell on her seemingly fragile form, but concentrated on the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in slumber. It took all he had to not instinctively want to shelter and protect her. Countermanding the hardwiring of primal human nature was extremely difficult at the best of times, and downright impossible at the worst.

He drew back and took a step towards the bottom of the bed where her feet rested and carefully removed her shoes, setting them on the floor underneath her dressing table. When he turned back to her, she had begun to curl into a semi-fetal position, her arms tucking in towards her body.

Jack crossed to the opposite side of the bed and pulled the fur throw over her. Phryne snuggled and burrowed in deeper in her sleep. He stood and watched her for a few moments, making sure she was indeed, still asleep. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed it in an attempt to clear the cobwebs out. He looked at her sleeping form and moved to exit the room, suddenly remembering her hat was sitting on the seat of his car. He tiptoed out of the room and was met by Mr. Butler carrying a tray with a teapot and service for two.

"I thought you might like some tea? And perhaps if Miss Fisher awakes..." he let the rest of the sentence hang unsaid as he headed into Miss Fisher's bedroom to set the tray on the dressing table.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler," Jack said, grateful for the suggestion. "I'll just pop on down to retrieve Miss Fisher's hat from my car." He hadn't even gotten halfway down the first flight of stairs when his stomach piped in with a loud growl. The detective rolled his eyes. _For the love of God..._ How his stomach routinely managed to 'speak up' at the most inopportune of times, he'd never know.

"And perhaps some sandwiches or a light repast?" Mr. Butler added as he descended the stairs, a smile emerging on his face accompanied by the slightest of chuckles.

"I wouldn't want to be any trouble," Jack said sheepishly as he neared the front door.

"No trouble at all, sir. It would be my pleasure," said the affable gentleman as he parted ways with the Inspector and headed back into the kitchen.

Not long after that, Phryne's hat retrieved and his hat and coat hanging on the hall divider, found Jack seated by Phryne's bedside finishing up the last remnants of a ham, cheese and mustard pickle sandwich. _Bless you, Mr. Butler,_ Jack thought. _Miss Fisher was indeed fortunate to have found such a gem as you._

Jack removed his jacket, folded it, placed it on the chair by the door, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He sat down in the chair he had set next to the bed and stretched his legs. He hunkered down, settled in and tried to get comfortable, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced over to check on Phryne before leaning his head on his shoulder in an attempt to rest.

Sometime later he woke to a cry which pierced through the fog hovering on the edge of his consciousness.

"Ja... Janey!! NOO!!" Phryne thrashed in her bed, limbs flailing to and fro, further tangling her in the bed linens as her nightmare played itself out in the theatre of her mind. Jack's war time instincts immediately kicked in and was instantly at her side wresting her from the smothering entanglements.

"Phryne! Phryne!" He pushed the blankets away and gathered her in towards his chest. Her arms swinging wildly, eyes open but unseeing, unconscious and still firmly ensconced in her night terror.

Jack pulled her closer and onto his lap. He began to gently rock her and rub her back in an attempt to calm her already frayed nerves.

"Phryne. You're having a nightmare. You're all right. I'm here. I've got you. I've got you." His voice steady and calming, resonated into her, staving off further cries and bringing her to consciousness.

Phryne's eyes snapped open wide darting back and forth, trying to take in her surroundings; heart racing, head pounding. "J- J- J… Jack?"

"Sh-sh-sh-shh... You're all right. I've got you." He peered into her eyes, concern flooding his face, brows furrowed. He finger brushed her fringe out of her eyes and let the pad of his finger linger on her temple before stroking downward and tucking the errant strand behind her ear. He let his finger follow the valley behind her ear down her neck, cupping his hand at her nape.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed the shadowed form of Mr. Butler hovering next to the open doorway of the bedroom, his mouth open to ask a question. Jack continued to rock Phryne, ever so slightly nodding an answer to Mr. Butler. The worry on the butler's face eased as he clasped his hands together which accompanied a nodding bow of understanding. He silently disappeared down the hallway from whence he came.

Jack returned his attention to the woman in his arms. Her breathing had relaxed once again, her rapid heart rate starting to return to normal. He pulled back to look at her. She had calmed considerably, but still seemed quite shaken.

Glistening red-rimmed eyes implored the kind cerulean ones which looked on hers. "Jack... is this really real? Did we truly find Janey?" Her pale pink lips trembled her question. "Is Foyle really going to hang this time?"

"Yes, Miss Fisher. Yes we did, and yes he will. I've been in touch with the warden and he's assured me Foyle will be in solitary confinement and under constant guard until his sentence is carried out." His hand continued to draw comforting circles on her back.

Phryne drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, finally getting her bearings. "Thank you... Jack." She paused, hesitating a moment. "My words seem a mere pittance in exchange for the answers you've given me... my family." Her hands instinctively reached for the knot of his tie, straightened it, then smoothed down the neckline of his waistcoat.

"All in the line of duty, Miss Fisher. All in the line of duty." Jack shrugged somewhat self-consciously.

Phryne reached over to pluck the handkerchief off the bed and swiped it under her eyes and across her cheeks. When she pulled it away to look at it the wrinkled mass in her hands, it was streaked black, and she gasped in dismay.

"Oh..." she moaned, "I must look a right mess." She sniffed and brought the hanky back up to her face, suddenly self-conscious to be seen in such a state of vulnerability and disarray.

"Not at all Miss Fisher. Never," he volunteered. A gentleman never impugned the reputation of a lady. His sweet falsehood tripped off lips that curled into a knowing smile. One she knew he shared only with her.

Phryne turned to move and stand, and Jack reached for her hands, assisting her ascent. As his hands separated from hers, he slid the balled up handkerchief from her hand. "Allow me, Miss Fisher," he said, voice low and rough, then turned to find the washroom sink. "It's the least I can do." He looked back, his eyes smiling at her as she straightened out the bed linens.

"Well only if you insist," came the muffled reply under the fluttering sheets.

Phryne sat back on the bed propped up by a stack of pillows against the padded headboard and tucked back under the fur throw atop the doona. She let her lids descend and listened for the sound of running water.

The Inspector entered the washroom and approached the sink, surprised at his unabashed feeling of ease as he entered the deepest recesses of Miss Fisher's boudoir. Then again, these were extraordinary circumstances.

He reached for the cold tap and opened it up. He unfolded the handkerchief and was about to rinse it under the cool running water when he looked down at it, fully seeing it for the first time. The sight before him caused the color to drain from him and his hands to shake. A hot flush and an icy veined chill ran through his body simultaneously; his heart accelerated to a rapid fire pounding. Shock numbed his extremities. He fumbled to close the tap, knocking over a glass into the sink. Lightening reflexes caught it before it could break in the basin, and he set it back noisily onto the sink's ledge.

"Jack?" Phryne's voice pitched. "Is everything alright?"

When a few moments passed with no answer, Phryne turned to get up, only to see Jack re-enter the bedroom, stone faced, pale and devoid of color. A stricken, shell shocked look encompassed his face.

He held up the monogrammed handkerchief with a trembling hand. "Wh..." He croaked and tried again. "Where did you get this?" His voice rasped as if parched by the driest of deserts. "How?" His legs propelled him forward and he bumped into the edge of the bed. He dropped down on the mattress heavily, disbelief ruling his features.

Judging by the look on his face, Phryne's instincts would have her believe that Jack had just seen a ghost. Puzzled, she asked, "Where what, Jack? You're not making any sense," and reached out for his empty hand, which he shook away.

"Where, Phryne?" he demanded, more urgent. "Where did you get this?" He continued to press the hanky towards her, his sole focus on the square of fabric.

"It was in my keepsake box. I kept it with Janey's hair ribbon," she answered matter-of-factly. She didn't understand the reason for his rising agitation and tried to calm him.

Jack shook his head vigorously as if to rid himself of an unwanted thought. He drew in a deep steadying breath and let his lids close. As he exhaled, his golden lashes rose and he looked at Phryne with an alarming intensity. As if he were looking straight through her and into her soul.

He cleared his throat and began again, this time placing the handkerchief, monogram side up, into her open palm. "When? When did you get this?" His voice was beginning to return to normal, but his face continued to be a turmoil of emotions, heart racing. "Please," he begged, his brows creased emphasizing his plea.

"When I was a child, and we lived in Collingwood, Janey and I would play in the fields and back alleys. We used to love to play pirates." The corners of her lips turned upwards at the memory of a happy time of days gone by. "One hot afternoon we were in a tub – our makeshift ship. Janey paddled swift and true, I minded the sails. She was the Pirate Captain Mary Read, and I was Captain Anne Bonny." Phryne looked off to the side as if seeing the scene ahead of her.

Jack's lashes fluttered down, and his lips silently mouthed the words "Captain Anne Bonny" in unison with her. A familiar tingling coursed through his body, and an ease of breathing settled into his bones. When he opened his eyes again, tears began to gather at their outer edges.

"We had company that day. A boy on his bicycle was riding by, Johnny, and we convinced him to share in our grand adventures. And a glorious day it was." Her mind played that day out like a well-loved movie reel. Laughter, camaraderie, adventures, a feast, and a new friend. "Janey often said that was one of her happiest days."

Just out of view, Jack's mouth curved in a mournful smile.

Phryne looked down at the handkerchief in her hands and reverently folded it in quarters and smoothed over the monogrammed letters. ARR. The center letter larger than the framing two, as was typical for an embroidered monogram.

"We went on many flights of fancy that day, and he was kind and shared his lunch with us. It was probably the best we had eaten in weeks. It was a veritable feast!" Her voice picked up, joy radiating from every pore.

Jack sat, silent, eyes brimming with tears as she recounted the story, still unaware it was a shared memory. He bowed his head, eyes focused on his lap as she recited the contents of their feast, again silently reciting every item with her. She chuckled when she mentioned the handkerchief held a handful of macadamia nuts.

"Janey made those last until the end of that week." Another warm smile graced her face. "I knew that he was a pirate through and through. In fact, it said so right on his handkerchief." She held it up and said "Arr," as children were wont to do when imagining pirate speech. "Our Cap'n Jack."

"I thought you said his name was Johnny," Jack corrected, careful to keep his features schooled.

"It was. But I told him I liked 'Jack' better. He looked more like a 'Jack' to me," she continued, still not connecting the dots. "I never found out if he ever came back to play pirate with us."

She lowered her head, looking into her lap, fists clenching at her sides, recalling the rest of that long distant memory. "One of Father's failed schemes had us uprooted by week's end." A wash of anger trailed across her face. "One of the first in a long line of things I never forgave him for." She huffed and rolled her eyes.

"I never found out what happened to him, my Captain Jack Rackham," she said wistfully, the fond longing for carefree days of yore evident in her voice.

"Oh, but you did, Miss Fisher," he began, his broadening smile threatened to encompass his face, excitement building.

A look of quizzical confusion flitted across Phryne's tear streaked face, and she opened her mouth to respond.

Jack cut her off, adding, "He grew up, got married, went to war and returned to rise in the ranks of the City South Police Force to become a Detective Inspector. Not a Captain... but not bad by any means. After all, you did say you liked 'Jack' better. Far be it for me to disagree with one so wise at that young age." He insinuated his hand around hers. Their eyes locked and pent up tears of joy fell down their cheeks.

"You!! You're... you're my Captain Jack?! You're Johnny?!" Phryne's laugh bubbled up to the surface as she took his face in her hands and stared deeply into his soul. "It's you!" she exclaimed incredulously. "It really is you!"

Jack settled his hands lightly on her shoulders as he returned her smile. "It is. And you... my Bonny Captain."

She brought her forehead to rest on his and closed her eyes. The emotional overload of the past five days threatened to overcome her, yet somehow a calm descended on her, finally allowing her to take a deep cleansing breath.

Jack reached his hand up to stroke her hair and canted his head up to place a kiss on the top of her head. A tingling sensation ghosted his lips flowing through her body and out through the soles of her feet.

"So tell me, Jack..." Phryne pulled back and asked, "What does 'A.R.R.' stand for?"

"Archibald Randall Robinson. It was one of my father's old handkerchiefs. Which reminds me... " his voice trailed off, remembering why he had gone in to the washroom to begin with. "We were going to get you cleaned up." He rose from the bed and headed back to the sink. "There's tea on the dressing table," he called from the washroom, "which I'm sure has gone cold by now. I'm certain Mr. Butler would bring you a fresh pot if you'd like." He found a face flannel, doused it under the cool water, wrung it out and grabbed a hand towel.

Phryne had tucked herself back into her nest on the bed by the time he returned. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gingerly began to wipe away the streaks of tears and make-up from her face. In the middle of his ministrations, she released a shuddering yawn.

"Tea later," he noted. "You've had a trying day," he reminded her.

Phryne nodded, as exhaustion began to once again, lull her into sleep. A sudden thought came to her as she nestled back in her bed. "Dot?"

"Miss Williams is overseeing things at the site with Hugh. She insisted." A small smile reached the corner of his lips as he recalled that conversation. "She should be back soon."

Phryne settled back and Jack pulled up the doona, tucking her in. "Rest now. I'll stay with you until she returns," his voice soothing and low, like warm blanket to her soul.

She reached out to take his hand in hers. "Thank you, Jack. For everything. Then... and now," her eyes conveying her gratitude.

He smiled at her as sleep, once again, reached up to claim her in its embrace. A peaceful look graced her face as she finally drifted off into a dreamless slumber. His mind cast itself back on that far gone day of their shared past, and wondered. Wondered what kind of woman Janey Fisher would have become had she lived. She was a sweet child; kind, giving, adventurous with a wonderful humor about her. Jack sat and pondered as he mourned her loss for a second time. He continued to watch Phryne. Minutes passed, their hands still clasped, until, finally, he felt her grip on him relax. He slid his hand from hers and moved to resume his post in the chair next to her bed to sit sentry until Miss Williams returned to relieve him sometime later.


	4. The Second Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the thing that you are searching for is with you all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many profuse apologies for taking so long to finish this phic. RL unavoidably upended my existence for a huge chunk of time. Hopefully it will let me spend more time here now.
> 
> This chapter takes place during and immediately after the events of S3E6 – “Death at the Grand.” It starts the morning of and continues from the last scene as Phryne and Jack go to the Grand Hotel, send Henry Fisher on his way, and have their waltz. The record that Jack puts on is **"You're Always In My Arms (But Only In My Dreams)"**
> 
> The version they dance to (on the show) is an instrumental. I've included the lyrics below.

We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another. ~ Luciano de Crescenzo attributed, Wisdom for the Soul: Five Millennia of Prescriptions for Spiritual Healing

God not only sends special angels into our lives, but sometimes He even sends them back again if we forget to take notes the first time! ~ The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

Angels can fly directly into the heart of the matter. ~ Author Unknown

Angels patch the holes in our hearts. ~ Terri Guillemets

The way people come into your life when you need them, it's wonderful and it happens in so many ways. It's like having an angel. Somebody comes along and helps you get right. ~ Stevie Ray Vaughan

________________________

The day dawned the same as the myriad of days that had preceded it had. To some, it was just another day, but to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, this day held special meaning. Today was the anniversary of what he thought of as his second chance. This day always held a mix of emotions for him, but in more recent years, he had begun to approach this particular day with introspection and appreciation. Today, he was cautiously wary as to the potentially inauspicious nature of this particular anniversary. Today was the 13th anniversary.

Jack Robinson sat up, yawned, stretched, and slid his legs over the side of his bed to tuck his feet into his slippers. The night before this particular anniversary was one he oft times suffered from a fitful night's sleep. A mix of nerves and anticipation. It was the way things had been since the War.

He ran his hands up and down over his face. _Time to start the day,_ he thought as he grabbed his dressing gown. He padded into the kitchen, put the kettle on, then headed for the lavatory. He started the water in the shower, set up his shaving kit, and headed back to the kitchen just as the kettle started to whistle. He poured the water, letting his builder's tea steep whilst he continued on autopilot with his morning routine.

This year, he had splurged on a new silk tie for today. It was a deep sapphire tone that had a dark raspberry with a cream pattern, of what looked like colorful lollies. It was a more lively tie than his usual, but occasionally he liked to flex his subtle bent of humor, letting it escape through his normal wall of stolid reserve. He paired it with his gunmetal blue-grey suit. Depending on the light, this particular suit could look like a flat gunmetal grey, whilst other times it radiated a rich blue that brought out and emphasized the blue of his eyes. He was especially fond of this suit, and tended to wear it on more 'special occasions' as opposed to his daily wear ‘uniform/practical suits.’ Clothed in this ‘special armor,’ it always gave him a boost of confidence and surety. He looked into the mirror, pleased with the vision in front of him.

He walked over to his chest of drawers and opened the top drawer. Tucked in the back, was his first aid tin from his Lance Corporal's uniform. He gently removed the box with an air of reverence, and set it atop the dresser opening it carefully. The dented tin groaned in protest as he pushed the lid up. He smiled as the lid opened with a jerk, revealing the treasure within. This little tin had saved his life. And the contents within were a keepsake from another life saver. An Angel. His Wartime Angel. He never did find out her name, nor had she come to see him after surgery that fateful day. He'd been left to ponder her whereabouts during his time in hospital recovering from his wounds. She had been a light in the darkness. A saving grace in a place and time devoid of it. One with so much pain, ugliness and misery. He had hoped that she had escaped the ravages of the War relatively unscathed, and prayed that she had been able to return safely to Collingwood, or wherever she decided to land after the War.

He reverently removed the fob watch from the tin and brought it to his lips, giving it a cursory kiss as he briefly closed his eyes and sent up his annual prayer for its former owner. Jack took the watch over to the bed where he had set out his suit jacket. He gently folded back the left lapel and secured the watch to the underside of the widest part of the lapel before folding it back to its normal configuration and smoothing it down.

Some anniversaries marked happy events, whilst others denoted sad passings. This particular one held elements of both for him, yet as the years had passed, Jack felt more and more glad of the reminder of that beautiful ray of hope and light that his Wartime Angel had represented. That though he had been injured during the War, he had been spared, for the most part, any ravaging or debilitating injuries. He hadn't escaped without any scars, mind you, but the interior ones oft held more pain than the visible ones on his body. During the more difficult times, times of stress, heartache and flashbacks, he tried to focus on his memories of her. The features and details of her face lost to clouded memories of a time long passed, yet he could remember her dark hair, pale skin and the entrancing blue of her eyes.

As was his ritual on this day, he touched the scars on his forehead, jawline and lip, then placed his hand on the lower part of his sternum and drew in a deep and cleansing breath, letting it out gradually and slowly. Again grateful that he had not suffered a more grievous injury to his lungs and chest. Once more he sent up a prayer – this time to his many mates who had not made it back from the War, and especially to those whose bodies had returned, but whose minds had not.

He completed the final step of his ritual by donning his jacket and smoothing the lapel down. He was now armed for his day.

____________________________

The Inspector and Miss Fisher walked determinedly toward the entrance of the Grand Hotel. Jack slowed his pace minutely to allow Phryne to ascend the last steps ahead of him. He reached up and pinched the crown of his hat, doffed it, and followed up the last step to stand at her side.

In front of them Henry Fisher, Baron of Richmond, hat in one hand, walking stick and valise in the other, descended the main staircase to pause on the landing. A look of wariness shrouded his features.

Stern face intact and unwavering, Jack, eyes still fixed on the elder Fisher, rotated his head towards Phryne to ask, "Would you like me to stay?" His gaze not leaving the Baron until his query was complete. He turned toward her as she answered.

"I need to have a word with him, alone." Her gaze never leaving its target either. A gaze that could have bored all the way through the staircase AND the wall of stained glass panels behind the object of her ire.

The Inspector nodded his head and turned to continue forward, his eyes flitting upwards towards the man on the landing, and back down. "Baron," he acknowledged as he paused in front of the side entranceway to the Ballroom, his voice clipped and succinct. His displeasure still evident on his face.

Henry replied, "Jack," and nervously waggled his hat in hand, looking down at the Detective. Jack held his locked gaze for a moment longer than necessary, communicating his thoughts on the matter before ducking to the right to pass through the doorway leading to the Ballroom.

Upon entering, he walked to the far side, removed his coat, then deposited both coat and hat on an empty chair among those lining the outer wall. He purposefully directed his steps towards the gramophone and began to rifle through the stack of records neatly piled on the table by its side.

Miss Fisher's raised voice cut through the silence and gave him pause. He cocked his head sideways, ears straining to gauge the atmosphere in the other room. As her voice quieted, he relaxed and continued to comb through the remaining musical selections. He settled on a waltz. One whose lyrics seemed to be more than apt in regards to the circumstances surrounding himself and that of his partner in crime solving. As he held up the selected record, a steady clack of heels on the parquet flooring signaled said partner's imminent approach.

He looked up as Phryne halted her forward motion and perched at the door jamb, resplendent in her olive jacquard satin dress, accented by the corded chain secured at the shoulders and draping just above her décolletage. The remainder of the inordinately long chain draped down the back of her dress dipping slightly below where the cleft of her derrière lay hidden beneath the ornately stylized chrysanthemum pattern of her dress. The back décolletage revealed a charming riot of freckles dusting her shoulders which escaped down a flawless and pale porcelain back.

"So... did your father shed light on our killer's identity?" he asked as he deftly removed the record from its brown paper sleeve and went about setting it on the turntable with practiced efficiency, not once looking up at his companion.

Miss Fisher leaned her head on the door jamb hugging the edge as she wistfully replied with a pout, "Of course not. Another secret in his secret life." She looked off towards some imaginary horizon before dropping her gaze downward.

Jack flicked on the gramophone's switch and the music began to play. "Care for a waltz, Miss Fisher?" He inquired as he spread his right hand out in an inviting gesture before clasping it back over his left in front of him.

Her eyes quickly flashed up and down him before asking, "Are you sure you want to risk it?" Phryne's voice held an air of suggestion, and it pitched up ever so slightly on the last two words.

He pursed and canted his lips. "What's the risk?" he answered boldly, his face unreadable and inscrutable. He turned and sauntered away from the gramophone hands clasped behind his back, heading for the open dance floor.

"Well..." Phryne countered, hips swaying as she sauntered after him. "I have waltzed with the best. French Presidents, English Princes..." She angled her arms behind her dropping her wrap and gathering it into her right hand. Jack turned to face her, pursed his lips, eyebrows darting skyward, clearly unimpressed with her list of credentials as she continued. "American Film Stars..." She punctuated this by passing her wrap to her left hand and tossing it to the chair on the wall to her left. "The waltz is a very serious dance." Their eyes locked on each other. Neither giving way, neither giving up. Staking their claim, yet holding their ground. The dare hanging thickly and crackling in the air around them.

"And I'm a serious man." His voice was lush, deep and inviting. His eyes locked further onto hers as he clenched his teeth, creating a hollow in his cheeks, and lowered his chin, eyelashes dipping as he continued to hold her unwavering gaze.

"My mother lost all reason when she was waltzed." Phryne could no more look away from him as she could fail to take another breath.

"Well, if she hadn't," he unclasped his hands, looked down and reached for hers, "this would be a world without a certain Phryne Fisher in it." He gathered her hand to clasp it in his. Her small hand enveloped by his, gently surrounded by its warmth. "What kind of world would that be?" Her languorous gaze drifted from his cerulean eyes to their joined hands and back.

His eyes returned to hers, shining sea green, as he brought their hands up and drew her in closer to start their dance. His right hand molded into the curve of her back, his fingertips resting softly on the center dip of her spine sent a tingling of pins and needles along her back which began to blossom towards her fingertips and all the way down to her toes.

Something in the back recesses of her mind, now swirling and overloaded by the sensations of Jack's strong hands on her body, made its way to the edge of her conscious thoughts. This was a feeling she'd had before. Several times. A strong sensation, one that connected deep into her core. As if she had been holding her breath for a lifetime and, suddenly her airways cleared and calmed, finally allowing for relaxed breathing devoid of stress and anticipation. It was a feeling of coming home, of safety and security. A feeling of familiarity, of belonging. A welcome tether to that elusive something she had searched for and been chasing after her entire life.

As Jack expertly guided them in their dance, she felt cherished in his arms. He wasn't directing them in a forceful manner, but rather gently leading them around the dance floor. Perfectly in sync with his partner, allowing Phryne to add her own flourishes, which added another layer to the beauty of their waltz.

Though this particular rendition of the song was sans words, the familiar lyrics ran through their respective minds, each relating to their personal experiences and mental meanderings.

The beginning verse brought Jack back to that fateful day in the War. Ironically surfacing today of all days, or was it merely a serendipitous connection?

 _I knew you'd come some happy day,_  
_I knew we'd meet,_  
_I knew you'd love me a while and leave me,_  
_I knew you'd come along my way,_  
_Make dreams complete,_  
_I knew you wouldn't be mine for long._  
_Oh, why give me one ray of happiness,_  
_Only to leave me so lonely?_

His Wartime Angel... a brilliant yet fleeting ray of happiness on a day he needed it the most. Leaving him lonely when she failed to return after his surgery. She had saved him, and now he was in the arms of an even more brilliant woman. One whose light oft eclipsed even the sun. He silently sent a prayer of thanks to his Angel. Without her, he might not have made it back to be where he was at this very moment. In the arms of the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. A woman whose inner beauty radiated from every aspect of her being.

 _So near and yet so far apart;_  
_If I could only hold you really,_  
_Tell you all my love sincerely,_  
_How I adore your charms,_  
_You're always in my arms._  
_In dreams, but only in my dreams._

He had told Miss Fisher, not in so many words, but in deed, expression, and work how much he adored her. And her charms. And her sense of adventure, her mind, her joie de vivre, even her prodding, flirtations and cajoling. She, _sometimes grudgingly on his part, he had to admit,_ brought out the best in him. Something that had been missing in his life for so long. If only he could put into words and tell her what his heart was veritably shouting of late. He tried to convey his innermost feelings in their dance. Slow and close. Metered and measured. Disciplined, yet freeing.

Phryne's eyes were locked on Jack's as they swirled around the dance floor. Try as he might to control his face in placid serenity, she could read the subtle range of emotions flitting across his countenance. They ran a wide gamut – adoration, thanks, self discipline, self consciousness, insecurity, boldness... each lighting upon his features for only the briefest of moments before instantly changing and morphing into another. His eyes were mesmerizing, and she was unable to break from his gaze. How had this stalwart man managed to slip by all her defenses and find himself firmly ensconced in her heart? For most of her life she had avoided this very thing. Love.

In her life she'd seen a myriad permutations of love. Controlling, demanding, selfish, abusive, even so far as putting the other person ahead of oneself to the detriment of one's own heart, as her mother had done on many an occasion. Jack was none of these things, and it was a puzzle and a conundrum to her. He was someone altogether new. Something altogether different. Someone so comforting, yet familiar in a way like no other man had been. A man who piqued her interest, drove her desires, yet made her want to do more, be more, be a better 'her' for him. For her. For them.

The last strains of the melody played out as Phryne heard the end of the chorus in her mind.

 _If I could only hold you really,_  
_Tell you all my love sincerely,_  
_I'd love to think of schemes,_  
_To take you out of dreams,_  
_And wake to find you in my arms._

She'd been scheming for quite some time now. Trying to bring to the fore any number of her dreams involving the ever dashingly handsome Detective Inspector. Her partner, her other half. Not that she was not a whole person on her own, but that they complemented and completed each other in a way creating a greater whole.

To wake up in his arms had been a recurring theme in many of her dreams. _Perhaps..._

The music stopped unbeknownst to the two of them, so entranced in each other were they when Jack finally slowed them to a standstill and stopped. He removed his hand from her back, and brought her other hand down and let go. He once again clasped his hands behind his back and brought his gaze down to sweep over her before addressing her.

"Well, Miss Fisher... are you still sporting a modicum of reason? Or did this particular waltz cause you, too, to lose all reason?" His face remained composed and passive save for the beginnings of the lopsided smile he reserved only for her.

"Wellll... Jaaack..." Her voice caressed and elongated his name. She reached her hands to the top of his suit lapels to slide her hands down in her proprietary way. "You do make it very difficult for a woman to keep _all_ reason..." Halfway down his lapels, her finger felt a prick, "Ouch!" She pulled her hand away with a sharp hiss, bringing the affected finger straight into her mouth to stanch the impending blood flow.

"What was _that,_ Jack?" She said, lips puckering around the injured finger as she spoke. She sucked on the tip again before slowly removing it from her mouth.

"I... I'm terribly sorry, Phryne. Here, here..." he reached out gently cupping her hand in his and brought it up so he could see the damage. "Let me see." His eyes softened as he looked down and let the lightest touch of his lips glance across her injured fingertip. Her eyes widened and pupils flared; she was momentarily unable to speak.

Moments later, _(or hours, she couldn't be sure)_ she came back to herself and gingerly reached for his left lapel. The one hiding the sting. Before she could turn it over, Jack covered her hand with his holding it in place. "Before you see what injured you Miss Fisher, I think I must first explain. Perhaps we should sit?" He guided her over to the chairs along the wall, not letting go of her hand until they were seated. She nodded and followed his lead.

Phryne sat, eyes still fixed on her dance partner, a whirl of emotions swirling in her head wondering just what he was going to explain. It all seemed so secretive; undercover _(if you'd pardon the pun)_ as it were. She was curious and perplexed.

Jack turned sideways in his chair to face her, his fingers interlaced, hands resting in his lap. His eyes focused somewhere off to the side, bringing to mind that day 13 years ago. He began to navigate the trails of memory with more diligence and purpose than usual. Trying to recall with more clarity the fateful events of that day long gone.

His seemingly extensive woolgathering began to worry Phryne as she looked at him, unable to follow where he'd gone to in the far reaches of his mind.

"Jack?" She asked, barely above a whisper, concern lacing every letter. She reached out to gather his hands off his lap and hold them in hers.

"Mmm..." He started, shaking his head minutely as it began to clear, returning him to the here and now. "Forgive me, Miss Fisher. Where was I?" He drew in a deep breath, and on the exhale before Phryne could respond, he began again. "Ah, yes. The War. It was early on in the fighting. I was stationed in France." His eyes seemed to drift off once again into the scenes in his memory as his words distantly joined the visions playing out behind his eyes.

"My unit had been moved from field to field, town to town. So many moves. Digging. Sending reinforcements. Sneaking supplies past the Germans... If you had asked me where I was on that day 13 years ago, I would have been hard pressed to tell you. Even now, I can't be sure where we were." His thumbs had begun to absent-mindedly rub her hands as he related the pictures running through his mind.

She looked at him with patience and understanding as she held tight to his hands and let him continue his tale.

"I was climbing after my mate, Paddy, who had just gotten hit. Tried to get him pulled back to safer ground when I was hit." Phryne's hands tensed in his, her thumbs now taking up the soothing stroking motions.

"A burst of shrapnel managed to catch me in several places." His eyes were still focused on the battlefield. Mud and blood – both fresh and dried – filling his inner vision, the tang of dirt and iron filling his nostrils, his breathing hitching. The faded familiarity of injured lungs came back to the fore, muscle memory returning. He coughed; his body remembering the strain of tortured breathing. Not unlike Freddy Ashmead's labored and wheezing breathing had been during the séance at Wardlow some five months ago. His lungs bearing permanent damage from his deleterious exposure to mustard gas.

"Oh, Jack..." Phryne's hand rose to cup the left side of his chin. Her eyes mournful at the mention of his injuries. He brought his hand to cover hers as he continued. His fingers wrapped around hers as she brought her hand down along his jawline.

"That was one of the places I was caught. Right there under my jawline." Her fingers gentled along the edge of his jaw. "The scar has faded so much. Even _**I**_ have trouble finding it when I've looked for it." A familiar tingling began again in the tips of her fingers.

"I would never had known had you never mentioned it, Jack." Her thumb stretched to reach over to the right bow of his upper lip and stroked it with a feather light touch. His eyes widened, lips tingling from her touch. She had instinctively found another of his scars.

"Right there on my lip too."

"Oh, Jack..." Her hand came to rest on the base of his sternum. The tingling and buzzing feeling in her hand even stronger, racing up her arm, triggering a memory of a familiar injury pattern. A memory of an injured countryman. _Surely no? Could it be? Was he...?_

His heart raced at her touch. Threatening beat out of his chest. _How? How did she know?!_

"I was incredibly lucky that day." He continued solemnly. "The main piece of shrapnel managed to lodge itself into my first aid tin. The next biggest piece lodged itself in the base of my sternum. Right, in fact, where your hand is resting Miss Fisher." He looked deep into her eyes. Eyes that appeared sea green only minutes ago, darkened to a rich blue. A blue not unlike that of his Angel. Framed by raven fringe in a pale face. The parallels were astounding, astonishing.

Phryne's eyes fluttered shut, realizing what came next. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and steeled herself to listen to the rest of his story. Her story. Their story. She let the hand on his chest drop and fall back into his hands, not wanting to let go.

"When I was brought in for triage, I was treated by a woman from Collingwood. Hmm..." He huffed, eyes squinting, brows creasing. "I wonder if you may have known her once upon a time." He pondered, a faraway look gracing his countenance.

_Once upon a time... Oh yes. I did. And still do. I do, indeed, Robbo from Richmond._

"While I was being treated in the ambulance, some of the shelling came very close and she leaned over to cover me. The fob watch on her apron became entangled in my uniform straps, and we were stuck together for several moments. She managed to unpin it from her apron, which I then untangled from my straps. On it were two engravings. On the bar pin was the word "Angel" and on the back of the watch casing, a halo and wings surrounding a letter. I never could decipher what it was through all the scratches and wear, but that wasn't important."

His fingers gently squeezed hers as he continued his tale. "She told me to hold on to it, that the angel would watch over me, and that I could return it to her after my surgery." He paused again, struggling, still not quite able to clearly form the features of her face into his mind's eye. "I never knew her name. Only that the men in her unit called her their angel and they had given her that watch. She was my Angel that day, Phryne." He said, baring his soul. "She was a ray of light on one of my darkest of days. A day I had almost lost hope. A day I almost lost my life." His voice was low and gravelly, emotions fighting to surface. "She never returned to see me in recovery. I never knew what happened to her."

Once again, his gaze seemed to be firmly ensconced in the cinema of his mind, recalling the events of 13 years ago now with more clarity than he had anytime in the past decade. He took a deep cleansing breath, noticing that his breathing had eased considerably. As if he had finally stopped holding it for some unknown reason.

"I've kept it safe in my 'lucky tin' - my first aid tin – since then. Somehow, I feel she's been watching over me all these years. Wherever she is. And every year, on this day, I wear it next to my heart in her honor."

The familiar tingling racing through Phryne's hands and arms exploded through her body, causing her heart to race and a jolt to run down her legs and out through the soles of her feet. Her breathing, strained and irregular only moments ago, calmed and steadied.

At the twitching of Miss Fisher's hands in his, Jack set them on her lap, and reached up to his lapel, folded it forward and unpinned the fob watch from its place of hiding. He deftly closed the pin into the clasp and placed it in one hand as he offered it to her to see.

"I always wondered what happened to 'Robbo' from Richmond," she said with a smirk, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. Phryne repeated the action of 13 years ago by folding his hands back around the fob watch she had given him. "She's yours, Jack. She always has been."

Jack's eyes instantly widened and his pupils exploded, realization coalescing in his visage. "Angel?!" His voice was hoarse, dry and scratchy as a sandstorm in a desert. Disbelief registered for a fleeting moment, then was quickly replaced by a flood of warmth and recognition. He slid the watch into his jacket pocket, then sniffed and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing noticeably. He cleared his throat as he composed himself, his face once again returning to its stony composure. Only the minute beginnings of the knowing smile he reserved only for her edged his lips as he stood and proffered his hand to her.

Phryne took his hand and rose to face him.

"I believe, Miss Fisher, you owe me a drink... and a date. And by the likes of it, you seem to be a bit late. Thirteen years, in fact." No longer wanting to curtail his restraint, he rolled his lower lip through his teeth and let the beginning of a grin escape.

"Well, Robbo... far be it for me to keep a gentleman waiting." She countered, once more threading her hands down his lapels, as she gazed longingly into his eyes. Without missing a beat, he dipped and grabbed his coat and hat, putting both on as he led them to the other side of the room to retrieve her wrap. He picked it up, and maneuvered himself behind her to wrap it, and his arms around her in an enveloping embrace. Phryne leaned in to him, tucking her head into his shoulder and inhaled deeply. Jack quickly slid out from behind her to bow his arm outwards, eyes flickering with hidden glee. She quickly threaded her arm through his, wrapping her arm around his muscled bicep.

"Miss Fisher... would you, perchance, know of a nice establishment in which to find, say, a fine whiskey?" His eyes brightened, continuing the pretense. "And perhaps a nice meal? Maybe somewhere that offers a delicious gratin to a lucky devil such as myself?"

Phryne Fisher patted his arm, playing along. "You are in luck, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. I know of just the place. If you would come with me, I'd be happy to show you." She made a motion above her head with her fingers as if she were adjusting her halo, then returned her arm through his, her face glowing.

They left the Grand Hotel arm in arm, faces beaming, Phryne's head leaning on Jack's shoulder, and his just resting on hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In searching for the lyrics to the song that Jack played for their waltz, I was delightfully blown away by how apt the lyrics were for the two of them. Coincidence? Not on your nelly. ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> You're Always In My Arms (But Only In My Dreams)  
>   
> 
> Words by Joseph McCarthy, Music by Harry Tierney 
> 
> I knew you'd come some happy day,  
> I knew we'd meet,  
> I knew you'd love me a while and leave me,  
> I knew you'd come along my way,  
> Make dreams complete,  
> I knew you wouldn't be mine for long.  
> Oh, why give me one ray of happiness,  
> Only to leave me so lonely?
> 
> CHORUS 
> 
> You're always in my arms,  
> But only in my dreams,  
> In dreams you're always near, sweetheart;  
> We're always 'neath the palms,  
> So happy then it seems,  
> So near and yet so far apart;  
> If I could only hold you really,  
> Tell you all my love sincerely,  
> How I adore your charms,  
> You're always in my arms,  
> In dreams, but only in my dreams.
> 
> Oh how I thrilled at your caress,  
> Each thrill a sigh,  
> Lingering there with your arms around me,  
> Your smile with all its tenderness,  
> Saying goodbye,  
> You meant forever and I a day.  
> Now I'm in love with a memory,  
> Nearest and always my dearest.
> 
> CHORUS 
> 
> You're always in my arms,  
> But only in my dreams,  
> In dreams you're always near, sweetheart;  
> We're always 'neath the palms,  
> So happy then it seems,  
> So near and yet so far apart;  
> If I could only hold you really,  
> Tell you all my love sincerely,  
> I'd love to think of schemes,  
> To take you out of dreams,  
> And wake to find you in my arms.
> 
> For the sheet music:  
> https://yorkspace.library.yorku.ca/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10315/30320/JAC006974.pdf?sequence=4&isAllowed=y
> 
> And on YouTube:  
> Bebe Daniels singing  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zuosXqAATw
> 
> Charles Lawman singing  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtSzXQPXPZc


End file.
